


Win Big

by jessahme_wren



Category: 24 (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Sexual Tension, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahme_wren/pseuds/jessahme_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Tony enjoy a day away from CTU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win Big

**Author's Note:**

> I leave a lot implied...feel free to draw your own conclusions :).

-0-0-0-

Tony stopped, put his hand on the wall and took a series of deep, steady breaths. They’d been at this for hours, and the previous sheen of sweat on his shirtless, tanned torso had begun to disperse down his abs in tiny rivulets that glinted in the fluorescent light. The reflective spark, though fleeting and wholly dependent upon perspective, matched the shining lacquered floor and reflection of the rear glass wall perfectly. 

He raised his head, adjusting a fingerless leather glove as he balanced the racquet in one hand and looked at Jack.

The bastard wasn't even tired. 

On the far side of the racquetball court, Jack lunged deeply, finding the ball squarely in the center, textbook perfect. The muscles in his back and shoulders contracted and relaxed accordingly under the stretch, and Tony couldn't remember seeing a better specimen of the human form since an art survey course he’d suffered through in college.

“You gonna stand there all day old man?” Jack stood across the court, one hand on the waistband of his black athletic shorts, smiling wryly at him. 

“I was thinking about it, yeah,” Tony said good naturedly. He looked at his watch. It was half-past twelve. “What’d you say we get some lunch…give me some time to catch my breath?” 

Jack walked steadily toward him, swinging his racquet with a tense arm. He grabbed a fresh towel from the rack beside the glass and wiped down his face and chest. He tossed it at Tony as he passed, hitting him in the face with it. “Pathetic,” he said with mock disdain, and he couldn't suppress a laugh as they made their way into the locker room. 

-0-0-0-

The Gatlin Arms was an Irish pub that had been in operation for only a few years, but it had quickly established itself as an ideal place for a beer and a game of billiards or darts nearly any time of the day or night. It was this quaint, ivy-covered brick establishment that Jack and Tony found themselves in, perched beside each other on matching red stools at the bar.

The atmosphere inside was lively but low-key, and the amber-shaded lamps that hung low over the pool tables gave the room a crepuscular appearance. 

Tony sipped at his pint of Guinness before setting it down heavily on the mahogany bar top. “I let you win you know.” 

Jack looked at him questioningly, smiling over his own beer. “Yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me back there.” Jack’s hair was still damp from the shower, and it stood up in soft spikes in some places, lay flat and wispy in others. His eyes twinkled boyishly as he pushed away his partially eaten fish and chips. “Wanna go again?”

Tony narrowed his dark eyes. “What, here?”

Jack took another swig of his beer. “Why not?” 

Why not, indeed, Tony wondered. He was naturally inclined to be more cautious, and was never the first to recognize an opportunity for relaxation or downtime until it was thrust upon him. Happily, Jack was usually the one who did most of the thrusting.

Tony chalked the end of his cue, studying just how he wanted to break. He leaned expertly over the table, his hand both tense and relaxed as his stroke penetrated the space there. There was a sharp crack as balls clattered, bumped and foraged for a corner. Several satisfying thwumps ensued as they found a pocket. 

Jack nodded appreciatively. “Not bad,” he said blandly, probably a little more impressed than he let on. He stalked the table a bit, his keen eyes working every possible angle for the perfect shot. Tony could see his analytical mind working, and he marveled at the intensity of Jack’s concentration even when at play. The skill and determination Jack brought to every task was just one thing that made him instantly trustworthy in the field. 

After finding just the right stance, Jack answered with an impressive combo. He smiled triumphantly at Tony, who looked stubbornly at the table rather than meet his smirk. 

Tony was quickly realizing he was outmatched. Again.

He leaned in, planning to chip a shot over another ball for a chance at the corner. Just as he was about to release, he felt a rough, warm hand close around his elbow. “Too high,” Jack said, his voice like burlap in Tony’s ear. Jack moved Tony’s arm down a degree or two and wrapped his other one around him to hold the cue. The proximity made Tony blush, and an unbidden chill ratcheted up his spine. Jack smelled like aftershave and soap.

“You gotta hold it firm, but not too firm.” He adjusted Tony’s hold on the cue and relaxed his fingers. They were both wearing jeans, and the friction from the brief contact heightened Tony’s senses. 

He cleared his throat. “Are we done playing date night Jack?” Jack laughed, stepping back. “Suit yourself. Just trying to give you a few pointers.” He looked at him appraisingly. “You look like you could use some.”

Tony smiled at him, nodded, and took the shot. He hit his mark, and the targeted ball slipped primly into the right corner pocket. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

Jack looked at him seriously, the low light and Guinness casting his face in a warm glow. “Anytime.”

-0-0-0-

It was late afternoon when they left the pub, and Tony couldn’t remember the last day he’d had off work, or the last time he’d had so much fun. Jack had more of a strut from his second victory of the day, but he hadn’t rubbed it in as cruelly as Tony had suspected. They stopped at the curb and waited for their cab.

“Oh.” Jack reached inside his lightweight jacket and pulled out a small piece of paper. “I almost forgot. I bought you something.” 

Tony looked down at the proffered paper. It was a scratch-off ticket for the California lottery.

Jack looked at him, self-satisfied. “I figured that’s the only chance you had of winning anything, so…” 

Tony slugged him on the shoulder with a loose fist. “Go to hell,” he said, stifling a laugh.

Jack straightened. “So let’s have it. Maybe it’s your lucky day.”

Tony leveled his eyes at him coolly. “I think we’ve already established that that isn’t the case.” He scrubbed at the little boxes with his thumb nail until he’d uncovered them all. 

He handed it to Jack. One “jackpot” and two cherries stared back at him from the little card. Jack looked up at him sheepishly. “Better luck next time?”

“Probably not,” Tony said flatly. 

Jack laughed and clapped him roughly on the shoulder as the two of them climbed into the back of the yellow cab. There were plenty of hours in the day, yet, and CTU was the furthest thing from their minds.

-0-0-0-


End file.
